


wrapped around the edges end

by TheNamelessAuthor



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It of Sorts, Implied/Referenced Torture, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Time Travel, drug, going through the differences between P5 and P5R, with a side of Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28952607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNamelessAuthor/pseuds/TheNamelessAuthor
Summary: His fate was to die in that interrogation room. But it seems the world had other plans, and now he has the chance to make things right, even if things aren't entirely the same this next go-around.Akira's going to do it right this time, no matter how much the past haunts him.(summary subject to change, fic still in the works)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	wrapped around the edges end

**Author's Note:**

> hi I haven't written and posted anything online in like 7 years, and this has been sitting in my drafts for like 8 months.
> 
> I meant to wait until I had more to show for this fic idea but i decided fuck it, last year was hell, let's post what we have and see what people think?? specially since p5s is coming out next month and thats gonna put me right in the p5 mood.
> 
> note here: I may come back and edit this chapter if I decide to come back to this fic, I still see this as somewhat...rough. let me know what you guys think I guess??
> 
> (Also, let me know if I should add anymore tags for things. I've never used the ao3 tagging system before orz)

Time seems to pass at a slow, painful crawl.

He’s long since lost his grip on it - he doesn’t even remember how long he’s been alone in this room. Doesn’t remember when he was put in here in the  _ first _ place. Has it been hours? Days, even? He doesn’t know.

Akira sways in his seat, coming dangerously close to tipping over and to the floor. His head swims with the movement, vision blurring and spotting more than it already has. The only thing keeping him upright seems to be the press of his arms, rigid and flat on the cold table in front of him.

Vaguely, some part of Akira wonders how he’s even still conscious. He’d been injected with so much of that weird drug, after all. He doesn’t know how much. Enough to leave him in this state, head foggy and ears ringing, body barely responsive. He can’t stop shaking, his breath coming in short, uneven pants.

Distantly, Akira wonders if they gave him enough to make him overdose. He wouldn't be surprised - considering he's so high he can barely think.

He still feels the pain, though. It’s hard to ignore, even through the fog in his head.

Akira pitches forward in his seat, almost head butting the table, and what little breath he has leaves him in a ragged gasp when the sudden movement jostles his broken leg again. White hot pain radiates from his thigh, and he would probably have sobbed from the agony if not for his lack of air. He can barely take a breath in, battered ribs screaming in protest just from that sudden exhale. His bloodied wrists burn when he presses his hands harder into the table.

He tries to blink away the spots in his vision, tries to focus. Tries to keep his balance. Tries to remember why he’s here in this fucking hell hole.

He tries to think, thoughts sporadic and jagged, hazy. There were people in here with him before. First those officers, the ones responsible for his current state, drugged and beaten half to death. And then...then the prosecutor. Nijima-san.

_ Is that the entirety of your testimony? _

Her voice still rings in Akira’s ears. She had been sitting across the table from him, not too long ago. Asking questions. Demanding answers.

_ It seems it’d be a waste of time to speak to you any longer. It’s unfortunate. _

She had sounded disappointed. He...he hadn’t been able to give her what she wanted. Right. And then she had left.

Something about that seems wrong to him. He was supposed to...tell her something. Something important. Something extremely vital.

But he couldn’t get the words out. Everything spun too much. Hurt too much.

Akira slumps in the chair, woozy and breathless and in so much agony, and tries to keep breathing. Tries to remember what he was supposed to  _ do _ .

Vaguely, he hears the door open again, and for reasons he can't remember it makes his heart rate pick up. He can’t even lift his gaze to see who it is, energy gone. Is it Nijima again? The detectives?

There’s a loud  _ pop _ from in front of him, followed by a thud. It makes the hairs on Akira’s neck stand up, some part of his brain swimming under the drug haze screaming “ _ pay attention, pay ATTENTION” _ , but when he lifts his head to look his vision blurs and spots and he can’t focus enough to understand what’s happening. 

Akira can’t do anything when he feels something hard and cold press against his forehead.

_...Allow me to enlighten you. _

Someone’s in front of him. He can’t make out their face. All he can see is the shape of their hand, and the gun that it holds, pressed against his head. 

That voice in his head screams louder, panic starting to swell from under the haze, but Akira can’t get his body to move, can only stare and sway and try to keep breathing. He tries to lift a hand up, move the gun away,  _ anything. _

_ That trivial righteousness that you’ve paraded around? _

The next exhale comes out in a broken whimper. Akira’s numb fingers brush against the muzzle, barely strong enough to grip. Not strong enough to push it away.

_...This is how such idiocy ends. _

There’s another muted pop. He feels excruciating, all-consuming pain and

nothing.

* * *

…………

Nothing’s here.

…………

No light, no sound, no air. Only darkness.

…………

He feels no pain. No exhaustion. ...No sensation at all, really.

…………

Somehow, Akira knows that he’s alone.

………...

_...How unfortunate._

Oh. Arsene. He's here, at least.

_It seems we have been met with a terrible fate._

Is that why he's here? He had been wondering.

_The contract that you made was unable to be completed. It seems only death awaits us, now._

Ah...he’s dead, then. That means he failed. In...whatever he was supposed to do. How awful.

_...Are you simply going to accept this?_

Is he accepting it? He doesn’t think so. He doesn’t _want_ to die, but what else can he do about it? He’s already -

Akira feels hands, large and burning hot, graze the sides of his head. Sharp claws dig gently into his scalp, his cheeks, the thin skin of his temples. It’s the first sensation he’s felt in what seems like forever.

_Thou must overturn fate, just as we always have. For the sake of thou’s justice. We cannot lose strength now._

The claws dig into his skin. The darkness lights up before his eyes. He gasps, and suddenly Akira _burns_.

IIt’s like an Agidyne poured directly into his blood, his heart, bringing him forcefully back to awareness. Blinding heat arcs through his body, his _soul_ , so intense and _painful_ that he can’t speak, can’t scream, can’t even _breathe_ , can only let it _flow_ \- through him, through his veins, through his skull and bursting from his forehead, so intense and hot it feels like the bullet boring through his skull, and when his eyes fly open all he can see is blue fire and Arsene’s burning eyes.

**_This shall NOT be our end!!_ **

The fire roars, consuming his vision, everything is _burning_ \- 

* * *

-and Akira jolts awake with a strangled shout.

**Author's Note:**

> hopefully my writing skills aren't as rusty as I think they are orz


End file.
